


Dust and Ashes

by MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flash Thompson Redemption, Grief, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays/pseuds/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays
Summary: Spider-Man helps people. Not just the ones who get attacked, but the ones who get low, who don’t think they can come back up.Flash Thompson gets low.So low he doesn’t see another way out.





	Dust and Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> To make it clear, I don’t usually like flash Thompson redemption, but I’m sad bc in my dreams is over and my ears are literally bleeding so I’m writing thus

 Spider-Man was a hero. Heroes saved people. They kept them alive.

 

More often than not, heroes saved them from another person’s bullet or the claws of an alien. They save people who want to live, and for the most part, they go home, they recover, and it’s just another day in the life.

 

Some days, though, they find people who are low. Like,  _really_ low. So low that they think the only way to get up is to take the one hundred foot drop off of the Brooklyn Bridge. And those jobs are a lot harder, because it’s not just a punch here and a kick there. It’s life or death, for real this time, and it’s hard to know where to place your foot when you’re trying to save someone already on thin ice.

 

It just so happened that this was one of those nights.

 

Eleven pm, a cold December Monday. Peter felt the wind try to drift through the fabric of his suit, but he didn’t much care about the biting cold. Tonight, he had stopped four muggings, a full-on bank heist, and flipped for a homeless man, all on his own. He should feel happy. He should feel over the moon.

 

But he doesn’t. He knows something is wrong. He feels it, like black tendrils of worry curling around his every nerve, whispering  _you’re running out of time, it’s happening, you’re going to be too late_ in his ear. He wanted to scream, wanted to ask ‘what’s going to happen?’ But he knew it didn’t work that way. Nothing in life ever did.

 

So, he swung. He kept an eye out for anyone in trouble, and as much as he wished he could say he lost his worries in the night, those little fingers of doubt never loosened their hold on his bones, never quieted their haunting whispers.

 

And then he found out why.

 

It was in Brooklyn. Peter didn’t patrol in Brooklyn much, but on the nights of the whispering tendrils, he would look anywhere he could to find out what he needed to do. 

 

Flying past the Brooklyn Bridge, he saw a speck. One so insignificant, so inconsequential that he shouldn’t have noticed it, but he did anyways. And he knew that that was what the voices had been whispering to him about.

 

He practically flew down to the bridge, landing lightly on his feet to keep from startling the boy. In the darkness, he couldn’t see much of him; a crooked nose, dark skin, a shiny new jacket. Most worryingly, a foot dangling over the dark waters that Peter himself had found tempting a few too many times.

 

Peter was about to speak, make his presence known, when something caught his eye. That shiny new jacket wasn’t any ordinary jacket; it was a  _Midtown High letterman._ And it only took one headlight racing by for him to make out the name.

 

 _E. Thompson_.

 

Oh,  _shit_.

 

Flash Thompson was about to commit suicide. Flash, Mr. Popular, his biggest fan, his worst enemy, was about to jump off of a bridge, and Peter was the only need one who could stop it. What was he supposed to do? Reveal himself for who he was, try to get Flash to remember some of the world’s magic? Run away and hope that Flash just never got the nerve to jump? And then what, sob when Flash never showed up to second period, knowing it was all his fault? Crying over his long-time bully?

 

Right. He had to intervene.

 

Peter didn’t let himself think. He took a single step forwards, light as air, and called out, “Hey, why don’t you step back some?”

 

Flash raised his head but didn’t turn around. He kicked at a rock on the edge of a beam, watched as it fell into the water with a _plop_ only Peter could hear.

 

”Look, I don’t want to web you up, but I will if I have to.”

 

That got Flash’s attention. He whipped his head around, and wide brown eyes took in the red and blue uniform that he knew so well. “ _Spider-Man_?” He asked, unbelieving.

 

”Yup. It’s me, uh, Spider-Man. And I’d really like it if you took a step back.”

 

Peter wished he hadn’t said anything. If he hadn’t, maybe Flash would have been star-struck enough to follow him someplace safe, have a nice conversation on a Barnes and Noble couch. But instead, Flash’s face crumpled once more, and God, he might as well have aged ten years for the emptiness in his eyes. Flash shrugged, and turned back to the water.

 

Peter swore; clearly, asking wasn’t going to work, and as much fun as he would have watching Flash struggle against his webbing, Peter went for the next best thing.

 

Peter closed the distance between him and the edge of the bridge in just a few steps. Without a word, he sat on the ledge, pulling his legs in close to his body. He felt Flash’s eyes on him, but said nothing as he stared at the point where the dark sky met the darker sea.

 

For a second, he thought it wasn’t going to work, that he would have to make an impromptu water dive to save Flash. Then, he heard a rumple of clothing and saw movement in his peripheral. Flash slouched as he sat down next to him, his legs dangling dangerously over the side. Peter shivered, knowing his classmate’s life was in his hands, but said nothing. Sitting was better than falling.

 

A long moment passed as they both watched the waves lap at the clouds. Then, Flash asked, “Don’t you have people to save right now?”

 

Peter shrugged, refusing to look at Flash, if he did, he might lose his nerve. “What do you think I’m doing?” He asked, his voice as nonchalant as he could make it when someone he knew was an inch from an icy death.

 

Flash scoffed. “Don’t worry. I’m too much of a pussy to jump, anyways.”

 

”Yeah, But you could have slipped, and considering what happened to my girlfriend, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to catching people. I’m not about to add you to that list.”

 

Peter could actually feel as Flash rolled his eyes. “Oh, because your life is so much harder than mine.” The tone of sarcasm in his voice made Peter want to slap him, but no, this was far too delicate of a time to put Flash in his place.

 

Instead, he pried gently, “Well, it might not be. I don’t know what’s happening to you, yet.”

 

Flash was way too smart to fall for that one, but he also wasn’t usually cold, depressed, and about to hurl himself off of a bridge. Peter wouldn’t hold him to it.

 

”Just your usual shit. Black eye from Dad, friends who only want you for your money. Kids smarter than you everywhere.”

 

Peter cocked his head; this was news to him. He had always seen Flash smiling in the hallways, cracking jokes with his ‘friends’ about how much he hated his dad. Maybe they weren’t friends, and maybe those weren’t jokes.

 

”Mm,” Peter hummed, trying to think of an adequate response, one that would keep him neutral. “And I bet you don’t think it can get better?”

 

Flash groaned. “God, you sound like a PE teacher—“

 

”No, really,” Peter interrupted, trying his best to salvage the situation. “Would you...”

 

God, would he have to do this? Would he have to play off Peter Parker’s scars as Spider-Man’s to save a kid he didn’t even like? Would he have to expose his coldest parts to someone who didn’t even know it wasn’t him?

 

All it took was one look at the silent tear slipping down Flash’s face to know that the answer was yes.

 

“Would you expect Spider-Man to try and kill himself?”

 

Flash’s head shot up. He quickly wiped away the tear, and Peter decided to pretend he didn’t see it. “You? Bullshit. You’re a superhero. People cheer your name, man.”

 

”And how long has Spider-Man been around?” Peter asked. “I’m older than my powers, and honestly, they were probably the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

 

”No,” Flash shook his head. “No. Dude, I know you didn’t. You’re the luckiest guy in Queens, you would never—“

 

Fast as a cat, Peter ripped off his glove and peeled back his sleeve, exposing pale white skin that he prayed Flash wouldn’t recognize. Flash leaned in to get a closer look in the dim light of the moon, and gasped. Peter knew why. His eyes were scrunched shut underneath the mask, but the ragged scar running from his wrist to his elbow was permanently ingrained in his memory.

 

Breathing too quickly, Peter let Flash have one good look, then rolled his sleeve back down. As he secured his glove into place, he slowly opened his eyes. “See?” He whispered shakily, much less brave than he had wanted to seem just minutes ago. “Even heroes can get low.”

 

Flash seemed to agree on the tone, though, because his voice shook as he asked, “ _Why_?”

 

Peter didn’t even have to think. “Because my unc—dad died because of me, and so did my girlfriend. They died because I fucked around with my powers and I couldn’t save them when they needed me. I got low, I tried to end it, but these shitty powers wouldn’t even let me do that. So I picked myself up, put a flower on the graves, and kept going. And look at me now. I’m a hotshot. I’ve saved New York, like, a dozen times, and I have pillow fights with Captain America and Iron Man. I know it sounds fake, but it gets better, kid. The school assemblies just leave out the part where it says ‘if you work for it’.”

 

Peter dared to look up from his hands. And Flash looked floored. His jaw hung agape and he shivered as if he didn’t even notice the snowflakes melting as they hit his hair. Peter blushed under the fabric, embarrassed. There was no way that helped, he was just going to end up another sob story—

 

“I’m never going to have a future.”

 

Peter pulled himself out of his head as Flash continued, determined to hear every part of it. “I’m—I’m peaking in high school and nobody even likes me. My dad beats me up when he’s mad, my mom never leaves her fucking craft room, and all my buddies at school use me for what I’ve got. And they’re just so  _mean_. And I’m too much like them. Like, this one time, I pushed a kid down because he got a better grade on a test than me, and all my friends laughed, so I just kept doing it. I don’t even know why. He’s a decent kid, I mean, he’s super fucking annoying, but they laughed so I though a black eye or two couldn’t hurt much. But now I get all heavy whenever I see him and it’s like I still can’t stop pushing him into lockers because I know he’s gonna have a future and...and I’m just... _not_.”

 

And God, that hurt, because Peter remembered the day that Flash pushed him onto the floor for acing a test that he had failed. But he always thought that Flash had enjoyed it. He had always laughed.

 

But maybe he had been laughing because it felt good to see another kid getting beat up instead of himself. Maybe he was laughing because his cronies were, too, and even if they were evil, they were all he had.

 

So Peter shoved himself deep down. He became the mask for just long enough to hold his shit together and repair this broken kid.

 

”Well, first of all, if you want to give me your address I’ll fucking kill your dad,” and Flash seemed surprised to hear Spider-Man swear. “Second, no one says you have to keep hanging out with these guys. You’re young, kid. You have all the time in the world to reinvent yourself. You can ditch those assholes, apologize to the kid you bully, and find some real friends. Life doesn’t just end after high school. It does get better, Flash, but you have to work for it.”

 

”How did you know my name?” Flash asked, bewildered, shooting up to his feet. Peter did the same, on high alert once more.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

”I, uh, I patrol around Midtown every morning. I’ve seen you every day for, like two years,” Peter lied, and he knew right then that for the next two years he would be late to first period every morning to keep up this charade. But honestly, he didn’t really care, because Flash was starting to back away from the ledge.

 

”Are you—are you serious?! Spider-Man knows my name? Oh my God, Spider-Man knows my name!” Flash exclaimed, hopping up and down like a little child. For the first time ever, Peter saw a smile on Flash’s face that didn’t come from his own suffering. Honestly, he looked a lot better that way.

 

Peter smiled too, and started walking along the side of the bridge. Thankfully, Flash followed him excitedly, asking him questions all the way to the solid ground on the other side.

 

”Do you see me every day?”

 

”Uh, yeah, pretty much.”

 

”How long have you patrolled around Midtown?”

 

”About two years.”

 

”Are you really an Avenger?”

 

”Technically, no, but they call me in for every big emergency, so pretty much.”

 

”Do you know Tony Stark?”

 

”Uh, duh. He’s an Avenger. I’m basically an Avenger. Put two and two together.”

 

Peter let out a breath as Flash finally got off of the bridge, landing his feet on grass and concrete, at least two yards from the cliff into the water.

 

”Okay,” he said, feeling all the adrenaline leave his body as he realized that Flash seemed to be okay for another day. “You gonna be alright?”

 

Flash nodded, and gulped. Peter thought for a second, then said, “Hey, give me your arm. Got a pen on you?”

 

Flash didn’t even protest. He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and rolled up a sleeve, exposing bruised skin that Peter pretended he didn’t see. He uncapped the pen and started to scribble down numbers. “This,” he said, his tongue between his teeth, “is my personal phone number. Call it if you ever get low again, and I promise I’ll answer.”

 

For the third time that night, Flash’s jaw dropped, and he could do nothing but stare. Peter closed the pen and handed it back to Flash, who absently rolled his sleeve back down.

 

”Okay, I’ve really got to run, but it’s been good talking to you. Keep an eye out for me at Midtown.” Peter shot a web at a nearby lampost, ready to shoot off into the night now that the tendrils were gona and a boy was still alive, but Flash called, “Wait!”

 

Peter turned. Flash shifted on his feet, as if doubting his own words. Then, in a small, embarrassed voice, asked, “Do you, uh, do you know Peter Parker?”

 

”Skinny, brown hair, always looks a little lost?”

 

Flash nodded.

 

”Yeah. He gets me my coffee. Sometimes he helps me train when no one else is around. Spends most of his time with Tony in the lab, though.”

 

Peter held back a laugh as Flash’s eyes widened yet again.

 

”It’s been nice to meet you, Flash. It really has.”

 

And Finally, Peter disappeared into the night, leaving a dumbfounded boy behind him.

 

——

 

An hour later, Peter received a message from an unknown number. He set his bagel down next to him, then pulled his phone out and read the message.

 

_Hey, it’s Flash. R u for real?_

 

Peter giggled to himself. Never did he think that he would send a picture of his alter ego to his bully. Even so, he stood up and snapped a masked picture from where he stood, on the peak of the Empire State Building.

 

He sent the picture, captioned  _Is this real enough for you, Flash?_

 

Flash didn’t respond for a whole minute.  Peter started to think that he had fallen asleep. Then, his phone dinged again.

 

_Holy shit_

 

Peter smiled, shaking his head. Maybe Flash wasn’t really so bad. Maybe the morning would be decent. Then, he turned tail and started off towards home. He would need a good rest if he was going to wave a gloved hand to Flash before school.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment pls I worked Hard


End file.
